The Murder of Emmeline Vance
by Clorinda
Summary: A woman, known to be connected with a clandestine organization, is killed under mysterious circumstances. Will the web of secrecy spun around the Order of the Phoenix, be dispelled as Auror Adrian Rafferty tries to investigate?
1. Chapter 1

**The Murder of Emmeline Vance**

**By** Clorinda

**Rated**: PG

**Category**: Mystery

**Summary**: A woman, known to be connected with a clandestine organization, is killed under mysterious circumstances. Will the web of secrecy spun around the Order of the Phoenix, be dispelled as Auror Adrian Rafferty tries to investigate?

* * *

**Prologue **

"_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to_—"

"What in the name of Merlin—?" Blearily, Adrian climbed out of bed, and walked to the window still in the dark. The alley behind his building seemed to be filled with a group intoxicated with rapture. Obviously they were wizards, because one of them was drunkenly firing sparks from a wand. Tempted as he was to get them to shut up, Adrian remained silent.

If by any chance, he let it be known that he was aware of the magic, he might have to face awkward questions from Muggle neighbours. And as Adrian was so deliberately posted near the Prime Minister's house, his position was indeed quite precipitous. His flat was more a mission, than a home.

He watched until the group disappeared into the building, still singing at a pitch that not even yards and brick walls could muffle, and with little choice left, he stumbled back into the rumpled bed. Sleep would not come easily, and he lay awake for a long while, with ancient strains of _Auld Lang Syne_ ringing in his head.

Little did he know that while he was still in throes of insomnia, a woman was being murdered in the flat whose fluttering curtains he could see through his open window. While he would be humming the popular tune all through the next day, the woman would be grappling at her attacker, all traces of bonhomie lost from her, forever.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry if that was ridiculously short. (It wasn't much of a prologue anyway.) The chapters that follow will definitely be longer. Honestly there's not much mentioned in the books about Emmeline Vance, except she was a stately witch with an emerald (or something to that effect) shawl, and regally inclined her head in introduction.

She was listed in Recent Deaths (along with Madam Bones) and her murder, which occurred in the "Prime Minister's backyard," and it was a particularly "_nasty_" one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

It was seven-thirty and rather late, when Adrian Rafferty breezed into the Ministry building looking like a sodden zephyr, covered in soot from a defective fireplace. He took the elevator down to Level Two where he worked in the Auror headquarters.

He had barely reached the oaken double doors when they were flung open. He barely had any time to gape before he felt someone cannonball right into him.

"Oi," was all he said as he fell hard on his backside.

"Adrian, I'm so glad I found you, the office is in a mess," the half-Irish cannonball cried out. "Oh, sorry," she added, scrambling off his person, and helping him up. "I didn't bruise you, did I?" she asked anxiously.

"Not too badly," said Adrian, wincing. "Just a broken rib, I'd say."

"Then you're okay, I'm glad, I've got work for you to do." Maureen Jervis was back to normal. She shoved a folder at him. "This came by owl post this morning. It's from St. Mungo's," she added, straightening her robes. "Get on the job. _Now_."

Adrian saluted her. "Right ho, Chief." He glanced at her. "Where're you off to anyway?"

"Damage control," she said with a sigh. "It's got to do with Madam Bones's murder, she presided over the Wizengamont, and there was that trouble over Dumbledore."

"So?"

"_So_, the press has been hinting at stuff like the Ministry organized her death and all that conspiracy theory. Merlin's sake, you work in the _government_. Don't you ever read the _papers_?" she added irritably, running down the remaining length of the corridor to catch the elevator before the doors closed.

Adrian stared, open-jawed.

Brushing the front of his robes, he turned back towards the elevator. The chute was empty, and he heard the jangling of the cab. Sighing, he waited for Maureen Jervis to get out, before jabbing at the button, and standing back to wait.

The cab was empty this time. He pressed for the Atrium. A purple memo aimlessly zoomed around overhead. Reflexively, Adrian ducked away from under it, belatedly remembering that a paper hang-glider was by no means an owl. The doors opened on Level Three, and someone slipped inside.

"Good morning, Adrian," she said brightly, raising a hand in greeting.

He had to blink a couple of times before he recognized her. "Oh, Tonks. Morning," He tried to be tactful, but it blurted out anyway. "What happened to you?"

Tonks blinked at him. "Sorry?"

Adrian coughed. "I mean ... you look nice without the spikes."

"Oh, thank you."

He tried not to look at her. The Nymphadora Tonks he'd known had been attractive in a spunky, eager-adolescent kind of way. She had changed. Her hair was dark brown, and falling to her small shoulders (was that the natural Tonks?), and her bolt-shaped earrings were replaced with ear-studs. And her robes— they were a formal black.

The girl standing before him looked like a woman. Like something had happened to make her grow up too fast. It was like metamorphosis in cocoons and butterflies (only this time it was the other way around.)

Silence issued, and she shifted her weight from one foot to another. "Err, Adrian? Why're you looking at me like that?"

He blinked. "I was? Oh, sorry. You just look different."

Tonks ran a hand through her hair. "I guess," she said neutrally, as if she really didn't know. "Where are you going with that anyway?" She jerked her head at the folder. Adrian glanced at it. It was labeled **Emmeline** **Vance**.

"This? Oh, just a new case that Maureen wants me to investigate— haven't gone through much of it yet."

"I see. Can I have a look?"

"Sure," He handed it to her, and she flicked through the primary information provided by St. Mungo's. She held up the photograph of the dead woman to the light, and Adrian swore he saw her jerk. Wordlessly, she gave it back to him.

"Err," she said, her voice thick, "do you know where I might find Kingsley Shacklebolt right now?"

Adrian shrugged. "Dunno. I just came in; haven't been to the office all day."

She nodded pensively. "Right. And Arthur Weasley?"

"He doesn't come until eight on Wednesdays. He still at home, I'd say." Puzzled by this questioning, he added, "Why?"

She shook her head. "Kingsley's posted in the Muggle Prime Minister's office— very close to where Emmeline Vance was found dead. He'd be of very useful help, especially now that his hands are empty.

"And I also asked Weasley to do a check on some funny Muggle stuff I found on my last case— I want to know if he's go the information I need."

"Busy, aren't you?" Adrian grinned.

The doors jangled, and slid open. They stepped out into the Atrium, and Adrian went towards the fireplace. There were two others waiting in queue, and he threw in a handful of Floo powder, and yelled, "St. Mungo's," before he was overtaken by the same wildly-spinning feel of Floo transportation.

He stepped out on shaky knees at the front lobby of the hospital. There was a large line of people at the receptionist's desk, and witches and wizards with the Healer symbol emblazoned on the front of their robes were hurrying back and forth.

Swerving past a bench occupied by several wizened old crones, and a particularly nervous-looking handsome young man, Adrian pushed his way through to the receptionist. He held up his badge.

"Adrian Rafferty, Ministry of Magic," he said breathlessly. "I'm here to pick up the body of Emmeline Vance."

The blonde witch looked at him coolly. She was chewing a piece of gum, and the _pop_ of the burst bubble interrupted often. "You've got a slip for the corpse?"

"Slip?" said Adrian baffled.

The witch rolled her eyes. "We give the Auror office the medical records of the deceased, the death certificate, and a slip that says it's okay to take the body to the morgue. You got that slip?"

"Oh, that. I think I do." He rummaged about the contents of the folder, and produced a sheet of paper. "Here you go," he said pushing it across the counter to her. The witch took it, and flipped through a roster under her desk. She looked up, tearing the slip with long-nailed fingers.

"The body is at the morgue right now. We sent it ourselves because you were late for the pick-up," she said, popping the bubble again, decidedly bored. "Next."

Adrian sighed, and turned back to the fireplace. Then he remembered he had no idea where the morgue actually was.

* * *

Tonks had been scouring the entire building for Kingsley— and that bald bastard was nowhere to be found. She returned to the Auror Headquarters, and pushed open the door to her cubicle, accepting this as God's opportunity to make her catch up on unfinished work.

And sure enough, there was a staggering pile of files and folders on her desk. (Paperwork— oh, the horror of it all.)

"Dora,"

She looked up from her workload to see a head poking up over her cubicle wall. "Hi, Jack," she greeted cheerfully. "Anything I can help you with?"

Mournfully, the Auror shook his head. "Nah. Not unless you can tell me how someone materialized into a locked room, committed a murder that would cause Maureen to make my life miserable, and disappeared— all the while not tampering with the door, walls or windows." He grinned ruefully.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, _you're_ investigating Amelia Bones's death." It was no big surprise— freckled and grinning all the time, ready to treat you to a free cup of coffee or ice cream, John Tripwood was easily one of the best Aurors in the department. "I thought Maureen was going to handle it herself?"

"She's been with the Minister all day, in and out with reporters and all of that." He sighed through his nose. "And guess who's the lucky guy taking over in her absence?"

The expression on his face made Tonks giggle. Jack brightened. "Ah, finally, I made you laugh."

Tonks frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack shrugged. "Nothing. You're just not the same person you used to be before, err ... before the _thing_ with Voldemort."

"I don't quite follow," she said coolly. "Anyway, have you seen Kingsley Shacklebolt anywhere? It's rather important that I find him."

"Wasn't he in the Muggle Prime Minister's front office?"

"He's on leave from that job. Penelope Higgins took over for him. Security concerns, you don't want Death Eaters being accustomed to the same one guy keeping tabs on the same person."

"Right. Anyway, I think Shacklebolt was in Maureen's office, looking for something in her cabinets the last time I checked."

"Okay." She edged her way out of the cubicle, and headed straight for the chief's office, causing Jack to stare after her with a classically Did I Say Something Wrong look.

* * *

Adrian had hailed a cab, and it dropped him off neatly at a small pub near Piccadilly. He paid the fare, and walked in through the grubby glass doors that made his skin crawl.

It was nine in the morning, and the bar was dimly lit with barely any lighting. A man was polishing a corner of the bar, and two of the several broken barstools were occupied. Adrian walked up to the barman, stared into his ugly face and grey stubble, and ordered a brandy.

He drank his fill, and careful to avoid the half-closed rheumy eyes of the other occupants, he pushed a single gold coin across the dirty bar under his palm.

The barman was not surprised to see the Galleon, but muttered, "The drink costs you two Sickles more, cheapskate," And while Adrian paid up grudgingly, he added, "Which department are ya from?"

"Magical Law Enforcement."

He nodded. "Right. The door's right through the john. The out of order stall, you can't miss it." The Auror nodded, and slipped off the stool. Minutes later, he was descending the stairs that led down to the underground London morgue.

The stairwell was dark, and he had to feel the air carefully before he took his next step. That was why the light bulbs in the inner part of the coroner's office actually blinded him.

"Hello?" he called out, holding up a hand to shield his eyes. "Is anybody here? Doctor?"

The blinding power of the light began to fade, and with the exception of those violet circles, he could see quite well. The morgue was empty.

There were gurneys, with corpses covered with white sheets, and long rows of storage compartments, magically packed with refrigerant, and charmed to automatically assume the name of the occupant. Since Emmeline Vance had died that day, it would be safe to say she was still on a gurney.

_Right_, Adrian thought, before promptly beginning to flip back the sheets to take a look at their horrible, dead faces.

"Excuse me," a small, meek voice enquired politely, "but _what_ are you doing?"

Adrian jumped a foot, and guiltily covered the face he'd been inspecting to see if it matched the one in his file. It came to a close match, but there were no signs of bludgeoning injuries. "Oh, ah, you see, I, I— I'm from the Ministry. I'm an Auror, my name is Rafferty." He fumbled for his badge and held it up.

The man who'd startled him was actually quite short. Barely five feet, with white hair and a white beard. (Adrian had a sneaking suspicion that he had to stand up on a box to perform his autopsies.) He nodded, consoled by the proven identification. "I've been expecting you for a while, actually. You're late."

His eyes were disapproving enough to make a full-grown man shuffle— and it did.

"I'm here for the body of Emmeline Vance. I'll be investigating the case."

"You could have said so right from the start," said the coroner, looking a little miffed, and twitching a sheet back to its creaseless perfection. (_Obsessive compulsive tendencies_, thought Adrian immediately.) "It's this one here."

* * *

Jack, despite his offensiveness, was however right, and Kingsley was crouching before the bottom drawer of a formidable-looking cabinet, trying to jiggle it open with all the muscles his two arms could harbour. He looked around when Tonks entered, quietly shutting the door behind her. Her face looked dark, her mouth grim.

"You have to do something fast," was the first thing she said, and the way she said it, implied all too clearly how something was extremely wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

The coroner drew back the sheet on a lumpy gurney, and Adrian eagerly moved forward to get his first glimpse of the murder victim.

_She's so young_, was the first thought that crossed him. _Nonsense_, snapped the logical half of his brain. _The report says she was unmarried and thirty-five_.

The woman did _look_ somewhere in her thirties, with a peachy complexion beginning to tan, and glossy, straight black hair. There was a regal, noble-haughty set to that high cheek-boned face, and Emmeline Vance stared up at Adrian with open green eyes.

There is always something terrible in being caught in the line of sight of a corpse, and Adrian was transfixed in place by that dead, accusing stare. Her eyes seemed to read what he was thinking, and her lips almost curved into a mocking smile. The coroner brushed against him accidentally, and he snapped back with a jolt.

_She's_ dead. _Get a hold of yourself_.

"Did you do the post-mortem?"

Going past the initial admiration of her good looks, Adrian could see that her face was marred with scratches, and fingerprinted bruises covered her throat like someone had been trying to strangle her cries.

"She died of injuries," said the coroner quietly. "There was no trace of the Killing Curse." Adrian nodded unthinkingly, and then did a double take.

"No magic—?"

"None. She was bludgeoned with a blunt object."

"Could a Muggle have done it?" _Think from all angles_, was the primary rule they taught you while you were in training. _Just because You-Know-Who is back from the dead, and on a rampage while he's at it, doesn't mean that he's behind every crime that you see_. (Try asking the Minister about it, though.)

"The crudeness of the crime is not a sign of anything, Mister Raffty," the wizard said venerably.

"Rafferty."

"Little difference made."

"Have any relations of the deceased turned up yet?"

"We couldn't track them down."

"Tried scrying for them?" suggested Adrian. Divining information using the elements was ancient magic, a lot like Seeing. You had to have the right blood for it, but when you did, it was quite reliable.

"There's not a single witch or wizard with that kind of power anymore," said the coroner with a touch of asperity. "You should know that, Mister Taffy, _especially_ if you come from the Ministry."

"_Raff-_er_-ty_." He was beginning to wonder if the old guy was doing it on purpose. "What did you say _your_ name was again?"

"I didn't; and it's Johnson Tawny, fully qualified, Order of Merlin, Second Class." He was pleased to see that Adrian had the grace to look impressed.

"I see. And you seem to take no interest whatsoever in this case, outside performing an autopsy?"

"I don't see just reason to," he said simply. "After all, you're an Auror. I expect you to do your job. Prove that Scrimegour's department is still going strong."

"_Ex_-department," he corrected, thinking of Maureen Jervis. He found himself walking up the stairs and out of the pub five minutes later, satisfied that he had exhausted from the coroner all of the relevant details of the case. (The Quick Quotes quill in his pocket was rather exhausted too.)

There was a teashop a few blocks down, and ordering a cup of coffee, he opened the case folder, and started revising his notes.

* * *

"You have to talk to Maureen," said Tonks.

"Why?" said Kingsley Shacklebolt, surprised.

Tonks pressed her lips together. "She's gone and given Emmeline's case to Adrian Rafferty ... Oh, don't look so blank, Kingsley, he works in the same department as you ... He's not excellent, but he's good. That's one of the reasons Maureen gave me a top-notch murder like Emmeline's."

"Have you told Dumbledore?"

"No, not yet. I'll tell him the next time I see him, because there's no way Adrian's super-human enough to crack the case by tonight ... Doesn't the Order meet tomorrow?"

"Yeah, six o' clock. Although Remus said he could be late." Tonks flushed a dull pink, but Kingsley pretended not to notice.

"Six o' clock, oh, okay." She fiddled with her hands. "Err, what were you looking for in here, anyway?"

"Not much. Looking for an old case file that I think is related to one I'm working on."

Tonks was surprised. "I— I thought your hands were empty. That's why I thought you could do Adrian's. I'm really sorry, because if you're busy, then it's okay, I'll somehow talk Maureen into giving me Emmeline's case."

Kingsley made an impatient noise. "It's fine, Tonks. I'm nearly wrapping up this one. There's no Death Eaters involved; a pretty straightforward killing, but just too many suspects."

"If you're sure..."

He wrestled a file out of a particularly tight fit in the drawer, and slammed it shut. He stood up, dusting off his robes. "Perfectly. How about we stop by a café or something, and I buy you a cup of mocha? How does it sound?" He glanced at his watch. "It's lunch hour, anyway."

Tonks smiled. "Thanks, Kingsley, but I'll have to pass. I'm meeting Remus in ten minutes. He just got back from ... duty," she said it quite significantly, "and he's feeling a little washed out. He'll like some ... human company at a time like this."

He shrugged. "Okay." He watched her go out, and when the door flew half-way closed, only then did he let himself grin.

* * *

The victim was born Emmeline Rose Vance; she was thirty-five years old when she died on June 5th, 1996. She was unmarried, and lived in a boarding house, fond of her friends and not very averse to alcohol. She handled a lot of it very well, (or so said Tawny.) She was currently unemployed, but there'd been an empty envelope in her pocket with a formal seal on the front. She'd been applying for a job at the wizarding post office for some reason. (Personally, he'd have hated a job like that, since he knew how heavily other people's letters were being read nowadays to check for illegal involvement with the Death Eaters.)

And as the coroner had said — let slip, rather — the dead woman had been identified by Ministry officials. Maureen had said nothing about that, and when pressed further about the matter, the coroner had become more and more hostile about surrendering information.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Adrian glanced up to see the young waitress staring straight at him.

She set the cup down beside his hand, and said, "What else might you like, sir?"

"Nothing. Just the bill."

She nodded, and moved away. Adrian turned back to the file.

_Why_? That was the most pressing question in his mind just then. _What was so special about this death_? _And what did the coroner know that he wasn't eager to reveal_?

Adrian thought about it. The woman had been his next-door neighbour, and he hadn't even known that she was a witch until the night she died.

There was a slip of paper stapled inside the cover by Maureen. It said "Oliver Lawrence: Scotland Yard." How could he have forgotten? The Muggles were bound to send in their own devices; this was a murder after all.

* * *

Adrian stood outside the boarding house, looking at it properly for the first time, decidedly unimpressed. He'd hate to live in there. The place was a dump, and that was understating it.

The paint had peeled off in patches that showed the dull orange-red brick. One of the windows in the upper floors was dangling on one hinge only. The front door had a broken, rusted lock, and even in broad daylight, there was the sound of loud squabbling from one of the middle stories. Taking a deep breath, Adrian stepped in.

The inner door had been repaired many times over, and the carpet was dirty and eaten in places. There was a rank musty smell above the hall, and the whole set-up was strange and unreal. Had someone really lived here? It was so run-down, and with absolutely no security, it was rather surprising only one crime had been reported from this address.

He wondered if he should ring the bell, and go in or something, but then again, he needed to have a valid reason.

Which he pointedly did not possess.

Therefore, he was completely taken off guard when the inner door opened, and a man came out.

He was very short, almost frog-like but with deep-set black eyes that glittered like beads, and thick curly hair. He regarded Adrian with bared suspicion and a very deep scowl.

"Err, good morning," said Adrian. "I was wondering if you have any rooms left? I'm new in town, just got a job here, and I was wondering if I could have some lodging."

"Yeah, we have a room for rent," said the man, not returning Adrian's polite friendliness. "Ye got 'nuff money to pay for it?"

"Well, it does depend on the room itself, doesn't it?"

The man said nothing, but turned around and went back in. The door, left open in his wake, seemed to say the unvoiced "Follow me." Adrian complied with the unheard order.

"There's an empty room way up on the third floor," the man told him. "Ye ken check it out, talk to the landlord 'bout the rent."

Adrian nodded and looked polite, wondering with a hard-beating heart if the room in question would be Emmeline Vance's, although the annoying part of his brain that called itself rational was screaming things like _Nonsense, you idiot_! and _You should just leave your Auror's badge on Maureen's desk and walk away_!

They walked up and past a few flights of wooden stairs, surprisingly hard, that Adrian's shoes made heavy clodding sounds over, his hand fastidiously placed in his pockets, so that even by accident he wouldn't touch the dusty banister, which had a nasty-looking white streak of something running down the wooden surface.

When they emerged on the third floor, the man went straight down the corridor, without even looking back. Adrian stopped, and turned directions. He walked carefully and soundlessly to the room with the half-open door, that had a distinct boundary around it. He tried to peer in, but all he saw was a God-awful mess.

It was impossible to tell if anything was smashed, or just naturally untidy. Surreptitiously, Adrian tried to slip in, but a loud, annoyed voice arrested him.

"Oi! You! This is the room I were talkin' 'bout. The coppers say ye can't go near the crime scene."

Adrian spun around, fixing a guilty expression on his face. "Sorry," he said quickly. "It's just so cool that there should be a _murder_, of all things here."

The man muttered "Yeah, yeah," and obscenities at the "coppers who can't leave ya alone." He waited this time until Adrian had followed him into the room for rent, and the Auror sighed, knowing he'd have to rack his brains for a steelier sense of con.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Loads of thanks have to go to **give em enough rope** for reviewing, and the compliment that really made my day. (I really like your pseudonym; _very_ quirky and _quite_ original.)

To answer your question, Adrian is an OC, and it's time to come clean and confess I stole his last name from the Pierce Brosnan-Julianne Moore movie.

And the exact timeline is not something I actually thought about, but let's just say this takes place _after_ Harry finds out that he's the owner of Grimmauld Place and goes back to Hogwarts, because there's a reference to missing kids in this chapter.

I'm also really sorry for taking so long with this chapter, but I really was concentrating a bit more on a couple of other fics. I promise the next chapter shan't take even three-quarters as long, since I already have a fair portion of it written— I just need to rewrite the material in places.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"I'm fine, Molly," said Tonks automatically, in answer to the glance Mrs. Weasley cast in her direction as she stepped over the threshold into the grim darkness of Sirius's house. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place could scare her little anymore; now it was only an unlocked Pandora's box of sadness. "Is Kingsley here yet?"

"He'll be here in a while," assured Mrs. Weasley. "He's, err, _escorting_ Mundungus."

The thief in question had been arrested for jaywalking, of all things, by Muggle authorities. (_Molly_'_s not surprised_, noted Tonks. _Then again_, _she_'_d_ _always been saying how Fletcher_'_s eyes are too sleepy to see right and wrong_, _let alone traffic lights_.)

The rest of the Order was assembled in the kitchen down the stairs. They didn't have any noisy teenagers to hide their information from; but then again, they didn't have any other big, clean space to hold a proper meeting in, either.

Sturgis Podmore waved unsteadily at her, still badly shaken-up about Azkaban. He was relieved to an extent that he was still allowed into the meetings of the Order, especially after he'd proved himself to be such an easy liability.

Alastor Moody was at the table; his magical eye in a glass of water, kindly obscured by his hand. Although, thought Tonks, to any normal person, holding your eye like that could be unnerving, too.

Bill Weasley dropped in after her, and out the kitchen window, she could see Charlie's silhouette rising and disappearing against the sky. Courteous as he was, Charlie had refused in his typical fashion to join.

Apparently, or so Tonks learnt, dragons were a full-time occupation, and they bite your fingers off if you return to their care after a week of absence. (And even if you try telling them you've been chasing Death Eaters, and generally saving the world from You-Know-Who's mass destruction, they never believe you, and snort fire in your face.)

Needless to say, such conditions were enough to make a full-grown man, who is also a dragon-handler with years of experience, wary.

Dumbledore was late to arrive, sweeping in with Minerva McGonagall, who was looking thoroughly disgruntled at being forced to fly instead of making her way to Grimmauld Place at her own discretion.

The rest of the Order were seated around the table downstairs, and conversation lulled as Dumbledore came in, draping his cloak around the back of a chair, and sitting down at one end of the table, but not at the head.

"We shall," he said quietly, "wait until Remus Lupin can join us here, since he has been detained by some terrible difficulties, but has asked that he be allowed to present valuable information that he has acquired."

Nods of acknowledgement followed this, a few people moved over to Dumbledore to talk, and conversation picked up again. Tonks felt distinctly glad that Severus Snape wasn't here tonight, making it much easier for them all.

Dumbledore organized for a meeting each week. Mostly, he scheduled it for the weekend so that it could snuggle in with their individual work timetables, but not all of them assembled at the same time; these meetings were held to manage different courses of action. Today's agenda was apparently to work on Remus's information, and two weeks from now, the Order, inclusive of every single one, would hold court in this basement of a dead man and a dead bloodline, now owned by a teenage child.

Somebody pulled out a chair beside her and sat down, and looking up, Tonks saw with a flitting smile that it was Bill Weasley. "Hi," she greeted, wondering if Kingsley would show up. He hadn't said, and she hadn't asked.

"Hey. You should drop over sometime, you know."

She flushed guiltily. "I know, I promised. I'm really sorry that I haven't been able to; it's just that, well, I've been as busy with stuff as you have, and on top of that I've got Maureen Jervis as my boss, so you know she's worse than cranky goblins who control our money supply."

"I do," said Bill solemnly, "and my sympathies go to you fully. I met her once, you know, in this catacomb in the basement of a church in Asmara, and—"

Tonks stared at him with incredulous eyes. "You met _Maureen_ in a _crypt_? What was she doing there?" Images of a vividly red-haired woman, fiery as a dragon, screaming at the top of her lungs at a mummy for being too dusty, suddenly filled her.

"Kind of," Bill caught the gleam in her eyes, and added, "See, I was there on business, there was some kind of havoc-wreaking ghoul over there, and Maureen Jervis was being mugged by a couple of Muggles."

"Did she whack them with those folders she's always carrying?"

"Err, I saw her throw a shoe at one of them when they tried to push her into some dead guy's coffin."

The door to the kitchen creaked as it was pushed open, and Remus Lupin quickly came in, and save for that distraction, Tonks would have utilized the moment to laugh her head off, and then tell Bill she didn't believe what he just told her.

Dumbledore stood up to grasp Remus's hand, which the two of them shook warmly, then he sat down, and Remus took the nearest empty chair, smiling with a quick nod at Tonks, the pleasant memory of the afternoon's lunch still warm in his heart.

"Shall we begin?" said Dumbledore, discreetly clearing his throat to catch the last wandering cubit of attention. A general sense of alertness rippled through them, and he said, "We shall begin first with what Remus Lupin has to tell us, and then we shall move on towards turning tables. Remus, if you would..."

Remus began his report, and his tone was brisk and efficient, belying his tiredness.

"I was underground with the werewolves.

"Voldemort is not wasting resources to convert sides in favour of himself, and it is widely known now that Fenrir Greyback is taking sides."

"Wait," interrupted Bill, "it's definite that he's not going to be neutral again?" For Greyback, of course, "neutrality" was taking casualties on both sides, but Remus was putting forth a frightening problem.

"It is. Sorry," he added apologetically. "Greyback's recruiting other werewolves for Voldemort, and naturally, most of them flock to his side. But he's not only threatening them, and thus building an army on foundations we could exploit. He's bringing them with promises that he knows they can keep. Like no racial discrimination among the Death Eaters, revenge, even a chance to show the world that they are superior..."

Something tinged his voice, and he coughed, and went on.

"However. There are some who are willing to fight _against_ Voldemort. They've all seen the slaughter he's caused, and even if all of them are afraid, there are still those who are willing go against that fear."

He pushed an unfolded sheet of parchment down the table. "These people are willing to help."

Wordlessly, Dumbledore read through it, and there was a soft scraping noise as Remus pulled in his chair closer to the table. A hushed silence had collapsed over them, and he caught Tonks's eye, wide and questioning.

No one said a word. No one denied the odds were slipping against their favour.

* * *

If you wanted to work in Magical Law Enforcement, you had to know how to side-step obstacles. Unfortunately for Adrian Rafferty, flashing his badge had worked too many wonders in his illustrious career as an Auror, and now?

Well, _now_ wasn't the most ideal time to stop.

An extremely disconsolate Adrian sat on the spinning chair in his cubicle, his foot lashing out to absently kick the half-closed door, his hand blankly turning pages in the Vance folder.

He flipped it over and over again in his mind, but nothing came. Investigating Emmeline Vance's death was a locked door, and from the previous day's failure, he wondered how much time he would have before the Muggle detective was sent in to take charge. (He cringed, thinking of Maureen's fury.)

But what should he do, when traipsing in looking like a Muggle had come to no effect?

Someone tapped on the door of his cubicle, and he looked up. Jack Tripwood was standing outside, leaning against the hinges.

"You free?" he asked.

Adrian half-shrugged. "Depends. What do you want me to do?"

Jack laughed. He always laughed with a sudden movement, flinging back his head like a convulsion. "Come with me for a coffee or something? And I don't mean the cafeteria junk. Good coffee. I'm going out for it. Come with me?"

Adrian shrugged again. "I don't see why not. I could definitely use it." He gathered whatever was on his desk and dropped into a drawer, and locked it. Picking up his cloak, he stood up to follow Jack out.

* * *

It was good weather outside the Ministry building, and Adrian walked beside Jack and his wide strides down the pavement.

"How's work going for you, then?" asked Jack suddenly, as if it weren't a very abrupt and funny question. Adrian thought it made too desperate a conversation-starter, but he said anyway,

"Fine, I guess. I'm still looking for leads. You?"

"Deadlock." Jack gave a smile of rueful acknowledgement. "The Death Eaters did a mighty fine job this time."

"Don't they always?"

"Of course they don't," scoffed Jack. "They're so cocksure all the time, that the trail they leave behind reeks of the blood they're covered in ... But that was then. Maybe the instinct for survival, for not getting dragged kicking and screaming to Azkaban— maybe that's finally catching up them."

He grinned to show he wasn't being morbid.

"The Lestrange woman didn't go kicking and screaming," Adrian reminded him. "She screamed a lot, but that was only obsequious praise of You-Know-Who, and she kicked the Azkaban warden in the shin, sure, but that's all in a purely different context."

"Well, she was strange one. Too devoted for her own good— look what happened to her after that fight at the Ministry. But," he mused, "it's her name isn't it?— _le strange_?"

They had left the public-phone box behind them by quite a few hundred yards now, and the traffic of people on the pavement didn't seem to thin anymore. A couple of Muggles on the other side of the street were even staring at them, following them with their eyes.

Jack nudged his companion. "Oi, take off that cloak, will you?" he whispered. "Not only is too hot for one, but we're getting funny looks."

"We always get funny looks," joked Adrian. "We work under _Maureen Jervis_, remember?" But he slipped off the cloak and folded it over one arm, pretending it was a greatcoat he was carrying.

Twenty minutes later, they'd wandered into a teashop, but Adrian's head was starting to reel. The back of his mind kept wandering now to the boarding house, the froggy landlord— and the dead woman.

It wasn't like Jack was unpleasing company, but it was troubling how easily his own investigation of the murder had been halted in the mud. Then he realized too suddenly that the murder was what Jack was talking about.

"Vance, was it? E. R. Vance?"

"Emmeline, yeah."

"A strange story, wouldn't you say, Adrian?"

"She was killed quite unusually, if it's what you mean."

"How unusually?" asked Jack immediately. "I mean," he amended, "I didn't mean to sound ghoulish, but the _Prophet_ was quite sketchy about the whole business."

"They bludgeoned her to death. She had signs of strangulation, but asphyxiation hadn't been what killed her."

Jack was silent. Then, he said, "Oh."

"Oh what?"

"That wasn't what I meant. I was just saying that it's strange that the Death Eaters should kill someone who lived so very close to the Prime Minister's house ... I know that _you_ were posted there, but _her_ ... it's just like the death of Madam Bones. Everyone heard old Amelia take a good stand for what Dumbledore was saying, and bam— she's dead. The magical community suspects that her death was orchestrated—"

"I know. Maureen told me yesterday. It seems like she's been getting more heat from the press than what she's been giving us."

"Exactly. The first part of what you said hits the nail on the head. The Death Eaters have done this to show the Ministry in very bad light— _suspicious_ light, even."

He was leaning forward in the chair on the other side of the plastic table, and Adrian, reclining in his, surveyed Jack carefully. This was the dark, serious Tripwood, none of the casual jolliness in him anymore.

"So, what parallel are you trying to draw with Emmeline Vance? That it was an attempt to show how badly-protected the community is, even if you have an Auror living next door?"

"That's a possibility. What I had in mind was a bit more callous: Vance wasn't a casualty. She was a publicity stunt."

There was a loud crash.

Adrian had bolted up in the chair, knocking it down.


End file.
